


Conflict of Interest

by HeartsInJeopardy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dominant Phasma, F/M, Make up sex, Missing Scene, Phasma (Novel), Rivals, Romantic Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsInJeopardy/pseuds/HeartsInJeopardy
Summary: “If you stay on my good side,” Phasma told him, “I’ll stay on yours.”It was a threat, Cardinal knew, but he had never heard a more enticing one.
Relationships: Archex/Phasma (Star Wars), Cardinal/Phasma (Star Wars)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Conflict of Interest

**Author's Note:**

> After reading the _Phasma_ novel I kept thinking these two would have made a great pair, so here’s my take on how it might have gone.
> 
> I’ve tried to stay as true to the novel’s plot as possible – except, of course, for the fact that this scene didn’t happen.
> 
> NB – I didn’t tick the “graphic depictions of violence” box because it’s not graphic, but as you can tell from the tags there is violence.
> 
> Enjoy!

Even star destroyers settle down after dark.

The ship’s glowing lights never dimmed, but the _Finalizer_ ’s bustling corridors emptied out each evening as its “non-essential” departments rotated off duty for night shift. In those twilight hours, the ship’s skeleton crew kept strictly to their workstations and its long halls were dead quiet.

Cardinal liked it that way. His days were busy with training and planning, juggling his duties as a First Order officer with his responsibilities to the ship’s young recruits. So when something was bothering him, nagging him throughout the day and intruding on his sleep, he found it best to exorcise the distraction with a long stroll through the ship’s empty decks.

What had kept him up tonight was nothing new. It was the same problem that had driven him to distraction since it came on board the _Finalizer_ weeks ago.

A problem with a name: Phasma.

The curt introduction to his new counterpart had been replaying in Cardinal’s mind like a holovid since he left Brendol Hux’s office with her trailing behind him. Strictly speaking, Phasma’s promotion was a structural change: Hux had split the stormtrooper training program in two, with the older recruits given to her.

But to Cardinal, this was an unmistakable demotion. One that felt like a slap in the face from his supposed mentor. Not only was Hux’s new protégé a clueless rookie, but it fell to Cardinal to train what was, basically, his replacement.

As he wandered from corridor to corridor, Cardinal’s demeaning lessons with Phasma kept flashing through his mind.

Teaching Phasma to read. Talking Phasma through computer basics that even his youngest trainees had already mastered. Introducing Phasma to each of the First Order’s weaponry one by one and answering countless questions about how they worked. Guiding Phasma through the First Order’s complex political dynamics while trying to gauge her comprehension through the blank mask of her helmet, to suss out how much she actually knew about the galaxy or was only now learning from his remedial lectures.

Brendol and Phasma were both reluctant to tell Cardinal anything about their meeting on Parnassos, or what their experience on the “uninhabited” planet had proven about the general’s new recruit. But Cardinal had seen enough in their training to guess.

Although she was green as grass, Phasma learned quickly. He rarely had to tell her anything twice. Her improvement day to day also hinted that she was spending long hours brushing up outside of their lessons.

And when it came to combat, there was little for Cardinal to teach her.

He had put Phasma through the beginner holotraining on one of their first days together, expecting her to ace the routine drills. When Phasma managed to exceed those expectations, Cardinal steadily turned up the program’s difficulty.

It had changed from an appraisal to a test and then a serious challenge, with Cardinal putting Phasma through tougher and tougher scenarios. The slew of programs stretched on for hours but Phasma never complained. Never tired. Never backed down from a fight even when victory seemed impossible.

At last, Cardinal’s patience wore out before Phasma’s stamina. When he finally powered down the holo projectors Phasma had turned her face up to the control room’s window, staring directly at Cardinal from behind her white stormtrooper helmet.

She had said nothing. But each time the gesture replayed in Cardinal’s mind he could hear Phasma speaking with that clipped accent and haughty tone of hers, distorted by the helmet’s vocorder, voicing the unspoken question behind the look.

_Is that all?_

Cardinal stopped in his tracks and sighed, finding himself in a four-way junction. He swept a hand through his short black hair as he glanced down each path before him.

He had left his red armor in his suite, opting for the casual comfort of a black, tunic-style uniform instead.

With no chance of running into his young trainees while they were sleeping in their bunk rooms, the custom armor’s commanding presence was wasted on his evening strolls. And even the pride it offered Cardinal – from its constant reminder of his bond with General Hux – was beginning to wear thin.

He settled on a destination and headed down the path on his left, toward the basic training room. It was “basic” in its lack of holo gadgets and droid trainers, with only weight machines and obstacles available.

The room’s sparseness was its appeal to Cardinal. It reminded him of honing his strength on Jakku as a boy with real tests, real hardship and no safety buffers to hide behind when you pushed yourself too far.

But when the training room’s doors slid open Cardinal gave up any hope of clearing his mind with a late night workout. Phasma was inside, alone, gripping a high bar and pulling herself up with her back to the doors.

Cardinal froze a step inside the doorway, trapped between a spiteful urge to storm back out and a defiant impulse to stay. While he debated with himself Phasma kept on exercising, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

After weeks on board the _Finalizer_ it was the first time Cardinal had seen Phasma out of her oversized stormtrooper armor. Its white plastoid pieces lay in a tidy pile beside the room’s door, while Phasma still sported the uniform black body glove.

Her hair, Cardinal noticed, was uneven. As if she had cut it herself. Longer, wispy gold locks fell down on one side of Phasma’s head, but he thought the unconventional look suited her.

She continued her pull-ups at a relentless pace, and each time her head rose level with the bar Cardinal could make out her toned back and shoulder muscles through the body-hugging suit.

After one last pull-up and a grunt of exertion Phasma let go suddenly and dropped to the floor below. She glanced over her shoulder, her cold blue eyes seeming impossibly bright from across the room, and finally acknowledged Cardinal.

“Need something?”

It struck Cardinal to hear Phasma’s voice (her real voice, without the distortion of a helmet’s vocorder) for the first time. He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take the holo room,” he said, and turned on his heel to leave.

“Hang on.”

Cardinal exhaled slowly and set his jaw before turning back around. It wasn’t an order, but Phasma had spoken to him with a sharp tone that told Cardinal she expected him to obey. He found Phasma tying back her hair while she ambled to a circle painted on the room’s floor.

“I’m just finishing up,” she told him. “You can take the gym, but I thought you might like to spar first.”

Cardinal smiled to himself, appreciating how quickly Phasma had perfected the skill for subtle manipulation that some First Order officers spent years honing.

Of course, it was for _his_ benefit that she suggested the match. No matter that only _he_ would lose face if the friendly competition didn’t go his way.

This was how it was among the First Order’s higher ranks: infighting was looked down on and strictly punished - on the record. But there were countless ways to pull rank and lord small victories over your equals without breaking the rules.

Although they were both captains, Cardinal was Phasma’s mentor. It was only natural for her to try and shift the relationship back in her favor, Cardinal thought, and trouncing your enemy in a workout was one of the most satisfying ways to put them in their place.

Cardinal put on a friendly smile, the one he brought out when a sullen recruit needed encouragement, and shook his head. “You’re warmed up,” he told Phasma. “You’d have an edge over me.”

Phasma scoffed. “Is that all it takes to get an edge over you?”

Of course Cardinal knew Phasma was goading him into a fight. But that didn’t ease the sting from her dismissive tone. He strolled closer to the ring and spread his arms, looking amused despite his rising anger.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me, Phasma.”

She folded her arms, burrowing into Cardinal with her icy gaze. “Don’t I? You’ve been looking down your nose at me since I arrived. Sulking that you lost Hux’s favor. Tossing and turning all night, choking on your rage now that he has a new favorite.”

Cardinal clenched his fists before he could suppress the fury boiling up inside him. Phasma’s lips curled up into a sneer.

“That last one was just a guess,” she laughed. “But it looks like I might have hit the mark.”

Without a word, Cardinal strode to a rack of batons standing beside the ring. The hefty wooden clubs with grips protruding from one end were used to train recruits for the more dangerous electric batons.

He picked up two batons and flung one across the ring to Phasma. She easily snatched it from the air by its grip and twirled the weapon around her body. Cardinal knew from their training that Phasma was deadly with a weapon in hand, any weapon, but with her height and her long arms he wanted something to cut down the distance between them. 

They circled the ring clockwise, staring each other down. Cardinal kept his baton between them, its long end flush with his arm in a defensive posture, while Phasma spun hers continuously between her two hands.

She leapt forward without breaking the fluid motion, catching Cardinal off guard for just an instant. The opening was long enough for Phasma to press her advantage, flicking her baton out in precise strikes that Cardinal rushed to parry.

Cardinal kept his eyes trained on Phasma’s hands, always watching for the telltale hints of where her next strike would come from. But he caught glimpses of her stoic face and steely eyes between the blows.

Those eyes, cold and blue as ice, seemed to look right through him. They betrayed nothing except a single-minded determination, but still held an allure that Cardinal couldn’t explain.

Recognition flashed in his mind as Phasma repeated a move straight out of basic training. He side-stepped her next swing and jabbed the short end of his baton into Phasma’s ribs with a curving punch.

Cardinal expected the grunt of pain that Phasma let out, but not the furious, predatory snarl that followed.

Phasma swung out wildly and Cardinal ducked her flailing baton by mere inches. He tried to dart away but a kick from Phasma slammed into his chest and left him reeling.

Cardinal knew he was vulnerable. He couldn’t help but clutch at his aching chest while feebly guarding with his baton. Phasma stalked him around the ring, twirling her own weapon, but allowed him to keep shuffling away one step ahead of her.

Her cool façade had burnt away, and Cardinal guessed this was the Phasma that Brendol knew from their time on Parnassos. A vein throbbed on her forehead as she advanced on Cardinal, letting him keep his distance but scowling furiously all the while.

The combination of rage and mercy didn’t bode well with Cardinal. He knew that Phasma could have taken him apart after landing her kick. He was only on his feet now because she wanted him up; she wanted to toy with him and stretch out her payback.

It made no difference, he decided. She had let him stay in the fight. Now he would make her regret that decision.

Knowing that her attack could come at any moment, Cardinal struck out first. A leg sweep made Phasma back away, then a rising strike trapped her against the edge of the painted circle.

He feinted, drawing Phasma’s arm across her body, then slammed his shoulder into her torso. The impact made her stagger back, stepping over the circle’s edge.

A ring out. Disqualification. A humiliating loss reserved for green recruits who hadn’t learned how to mind their footwork.

Cardinal twirled his baton behind his back at parade rest and was thinking up just the right stern words to chide Phasma with.

Then she struck back.

Her baton crashed against Cardinal’s chin and the room around him went fuzzy. He raised his arms on instinct, clutching his baton uselessly in one hand as a flurry of sharp strikes drove him backward.

When Cardinal’s vision cleared, all he could make out within the blur of Phasma’s swinging baton was her face: forehead creased, eyes gleaming with fury, cheeks flushed and teeth bared like a wolf advancing on its prey.

Cardinal cocked an arm back with his baton raised, but Phasma was too quick. She stepped close to him, reached behind his back and wrenched his arm around so fast and hard that he lost his balance.

He slammed face-first onto the hard floor with Phasma pressing on top of him, a blow that knocked the wind out of his lungs and left him gasping. She straddled Cardinal’s back on her knees, taking the weight off of him, and tossed her baton aside. It joined Cardinal’s on the floor nearby, where it had rolled after fumbling from his hands.

Through the throbbing pain and the distracting humiliation, a hazy part of Cardinal’s mind recognized that Phasma had driven him out of the ring’s opposite end before taking him down.

It added insult to the injury of his beating. Phasma knew the rules, but showed how rules only mattered when they served her. She wouldn’t accept defeat on anyone’s terms but her own, and she had taught her supposed mentor that lesson with brutal efficiency.

One of Phasma’s strong hands gripped the back of Cardinal’s head, grinding his face into the floor. She leaned down close and whispered in his ear, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Is that all?”

Cardinal clenched his jaw to keep from growling in rage. When he allowed himself to shoot back, “You tell me, I thought we were just sparring,” his voice was still raspy from the hard landing.

Phasma released her grip on Cardinal’s head then yanked one of his shoulders up, roughly shifting him onto his back. She pressed her knees down on his shoulders, pinning him to the floor under her muscular frame.

She looked more human than Cardinal had ever seen her now, with her pale cheeks flushed red and a lock of hair hanging down on her sweaty forehead. She was still menacing, but not in the same way her helmet’s empty black eyes were.

“Ahh,” Phasma said, grabbing Cardinal by the chin and squinting down at his face. “It’s still there. That superior look from our lessons. I thought I could wipe it off your face, but perhaps it’s stuck there.”

“You could beat me black and blue,” Cardinal hissed. “It still won’t change what you are.”

“A nobody?” Phasma wondered. “An orphan from a backwater planet? And what would that make you, _captain_?” The contempt Phasma packed into the last word made Cardinal squirm in her grip.

He dug his right elbow into the floor, using all his might to shift Phasma by a few inches and slide his shoulder free. As she rocked to her left to regain her balance, Cardinal used the same trick on his left side and let the momentum carry them both.

He rolled on top of Phasma, pinning her arms down by her wrists while he panted with exhaustion.

He had no plan. His entire body ached from the thrashing Phasma gave him. The only thing driving him was a stubborn refusal to let Phasma win – to prove that he was better than her.

Hunched over Phasma, staring into her bright blue eyes, Cardinal’s mind raced with strategies and techniques, planning responses for counterattacks from Phasma that didn’t come. They stayed locked in the faceoff for a long moment, each waiting for the flash of scorn, defiance or righteous anger that would guide their next move.

Phasma raised her head and kissed Cardinal.

It was a quick peck, just Phasma’s chapped lips briefly pressing against Cardinal’s. But for the captain who had never known another human’s loving touch the instant of affection left him stunned.

He was still gawking at Phasma with his jaw hanging open when she made her move.

She bucked her hips against Cardinal’s, sliding his sweaty hands off her wrists long enough to bash an elbow into his collarbone. They rolled together, landing heavily on Cardinal’s back in an impact that set him wheezing again.

This time Phasma straddled Cardinal’s chest, rising up on her knees to let him catch his breath. She swept a hand through his short dark hair with an uncharacteristic tenderness that only made Cardinal more wary.

“You’re tough, Cardinal,” Phasma said almost proudly. “And crafty. There were warriors like you on my home world. Too strong to risk challenging. Too stubborn to recruit to my side.”

Cardinal coughed into the crook of his elbow, tasting coppery blood in the back of his throat. “Is that your way of proposing an alliance?”

Phasma’s hand trailed down Cardinal’s cheek and under his jaw, tilting his chin up so his dark brown eyes looked directly into hers. A wicked smile spread across her lips.

“Would you rather be my enemy?”

“I’d rather be on top,” Cardinal rasped. “I don’t see how you’re in a position to dictate terms to me.”

Phasma’s eyebrow twitched in irritation and Cardinal thought she might hit him again just for talking back. But she exhaled slowly and sank down on her knees, resting her backside on Cardinal’s hips.

In spite of his pain and uncertainty, the agreeable feeling of Phasma’s kiss was still fresh in Cardinal’s mind. And now her closeness – wrapped in her snug body glove – made his thoughts circle back to the memory again and again.

“Call it a truce,” Phasma suggested. “Call it a stalemate if that makes you feel better. But it’s time to put this rivalry behind us.”

Cardinal rose up on his elbows, testing whether Phasma was still keeping up the pretense of their sparring match. She only stared at him with her steady, calculating gaze so he settled more comfortably beneath her.

“I’m the one who stands to lose if the general actually splits up the recruiting program,” he said bluntly. “Why does it suit me to play nice with you?”

“Because…”

Phasma draped her arms over Cardinal’s shoulders, pressing so close to him that he could feel her unnaturally steady heartbeat against his own chest. Her curious eyes swept over his face, searching for hints of the desire that Cardinal was fighting desperately to stifle.

“If you stay on my good side,” she told him, “I’ll stay on yours.”

It was a threat, Cardinal knew, but he had never heard a more enticing one. His hands moved on their own, settling on Phasma’s hips before sliding up the body glove’s smooth material.

Cardinal had dreamt about moments like these, but never with Phasma. But here and now, with her firm muscles one sleek layer of fabric apart from his fingertips, it felt like he had been waiting a lifetime for her.

Phasma leaned forward and pressed hungry kisses against Cardinal’s neck, sucking on his bare skin and flicking her tongue against it. The flood of unfamiliar sensations, and of long suppressed desire, left Cardinal to rely on his instincts. He gripped Phasma’s athletic thighs and leaned back onto the floor, pulling her on top of him.

Phasma’s fingers curled under Cardinal’s uniform top, making him shudder as Phasma’s knuckles brushed his stomach. She inched the tunic up to reveal his muscular torso and smoothed her hands over his rigid abs and pecs.

She shimmied back on her knees and bowed her head, trailing her lips across Cardinal’s stomach. Cardinal swept Phasma’s hair out of its tie and threaded his fingers through it, gently guiding her mouth across his chest.

A nagging voice, the dutiful one drilled into Cardinal through years of First Order training, started echoing in his mind again now that Phasma’s beautiful face was out of view.

“This is pointless,” he muttered gloomily. “We’re going to be at each other’s throats soon, whether we like it or not. That’s how the First Order works. They love to play their officers against each other. And when Bolden paired us together he-”

Phasma’s hand clapped over his mouth. She raised her head and shot Cardinal an irate look that snapped him back to the present. He kissed her palm in apology and Phasma’s expression softened noticeably.

She rose up on her knees and Cardinal worried for a moment that she had changed her mind. Instead, she stretched a long arm behind her back to tug down the body glove’s zipper. She peeled off the suit, baring her broad shoulders and strapping arms, then her breasts and a lithe, muscled torso.

Cardinal waited raptly to see the rest of her body. Instead Phasma pulled his tunic off over his head and then roughly rolled him on top of her.

He started to fondle her breasts but Phasma pushed his hand lower, between her legs and under the clingy body glove. One of her hands guided his through the slow, rhythmic motion she wanted while the other gripped the back of Cardinal’s neck.

Her bright blue eyes burrowed into his, but this time Cardinal knew she wasn’t looking through him. He felt truly recognized – as a human, a man, and not a number or a rank – for the first time in his life.

“Maybe you’re right,” Phasma told him. Her voice was a low whisper but with Cardinal’s face inches from hers he could hear perfectly. “The First Order wants us to be enemies. They’ll make us hate each other someday. But what’s your rush?”

She let go of Cardinal’s hand to cup his face in both of hers. Her breath turned to panting and she closed her eyes with a blissful expression.

“Tonight,” she sighed, “we’re in charge. And where I come from we know not to waste a good thing while it lasts.”

Phasma’s eyes squeezed shut more tightly and she took in a ragged breath. Her whole body began to shudder but Cardinal knew better than to pull his hand away. He kept his aching arm stroking to Phasma’s steady rhythm until at last she pulled him close and nuzzled their faces together.

“I want to-”

“I know what you want,” Phasma said with a smirk. Her hand cupped the bulge in his pants with an eagerness that showed her own desire.

“But… not on the floor,” Cardinal said sheepishly. “Not here. My suite is just-”

“No,” Phasma said flatly. “And don’t even ask about mine. That’s not what this is.”

She rose up on her elbows and regarded Cardinal, giving him the feeling of being measured up again. After a long moment Phasma stood abruptly and stretched out her sinewy arms.

“I come to this room because the showers here run hot all night,” she told him with the solemnity of revealing a great secret. “It’s the only place on the ship without a timer on the hot water.”

Cardinal stood up and ambled toward the shower room with Phasma at his side, trying to stifle the smile spreading on his face. “You take note of that sort of thing?”

“There were no showers on Parnassos,” Phasma said gravely. “Hot or cold.”

She stretched an arm around Cardinal and pulled him closer, lightly trailing a finger back and forth across his chest.

“I told you,” she reminded him. “Where I come from we don’t waste a good thing while it lasts.”

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive on feedback – good or bad – so if you made it this far I’d love to hear what you thought.


End file.
